Letters from the Front
by Kikasu Utagoe
Summary: Two poem-letters / ballads that Germany wrote for Italy, and America wrote for England.
1. From: Germany, To: Italy

"_Liebe Italia,_

I am holding zis pen,  
but I don't even know how to begin.  
Ze shells fly so dense, they block out ze sky.  
Everywhere around me I hear men shout and cry.  
Gut German men killed by some English guy,  
and I think, Meine Liebe, it is my time to die.

In ze Ardennes I was shot twice already,  
my bag and my Mauser have become so heavy.  
Meine feet - black and frozen from weeks in ze mud,  
and my head feels so light because I am losing blood.

I was captured by Frenchmen by the Somme a while ago,  
they punched me, kicked me, threw me to freeze in the snow.  
They took my Mauser, ammo, food, everything part by part -  
but they couldn't take you. You are in my heart.

Remember Weinachten? I woke with you in my bed,  
but I couldn't help loving ze brown mess on your head.  
Remember ze picnic in Florence? Lying in ze grass,  
you smiled, gazed at me, and then grabbed my... well.  
I should have loved you, ja. I am full of regret.  
But ze memories? Nein, I shall never forget.

All I have left is your photograph in ze tin locket that fits snugly by my heart, in my chest pocket.  
When ze French stabbed me and threw me on the ground,  
I lost ze locket and before it was found ze frog-eating schweine started to scream:  
"Putain, un pédé!" - and kicked knee upon knee.

I haven't eaten in days but I still strongly remember your pasta, cooking über feuer, while I poked at ze embers.  
I thank Gott to this day that upon hearing frantic knocks I decided to open ze wooden tomato box.  
Inside it I found ze best thing in my life -  
it was you, Italia. Unarmed. Not even a knife.

I didn't love you. I thought you were a weak kleine bean,  
and at ze same time, ze most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.  
I wanted to touch you, to kiss you, as I still do right now.  
Italia - I miss you. You don't even know how.

Why am I not in Münich, reading unter eine buche?  
Or watching over you while you bake in meine küche?  
Why was I sucked into this maelstrom, this swirl,  
this war, that keeps me far from your fabulous curls?

Italia, I really can't find much more to say.  
I used to think, "Surely, I will marry him one day."  
You are the one only thing that I need to live. Well. Except oxygen. And wasser. But please forgive  
me, Meine Liebe. For it has come to be my time to die and I have not had ze chance to say my last goodbye.

I can barely see, all I do is cough, there's blood everywhere,  
but please, Italia -"

* * *

And there the letter cuts off.


	2. From: America, To: England

_Hey, loser!_

I hear your defenses are starting to blow,

So I'm packing my things. Just want you to know,

I'll be in France in a week so don't you feel low.

I'll be there to save you and be the star of the show!

.

But I'm still amazed at how incredibly you fail,

you have "the world's best navy" that can barely sail.

You're like the 300 Spartans, defending a narrow pass,

and yet the Germans still manage to be kicking your ass.

.

I know your eyebrows are so thick they block out the sun,

but how the hell did you idiots lose at Verdun?

"A fortress dug so deep it neighbors the pits of hell"

- yeah. That fell after getting hit by a few artillery shells.

.

Back home it's so boring, I think I could yell

about the circle of grow-mine-make-smelt-and-sell.

All we do is plant corn and wheat, and then watch it grow,

while you guys get beat. That's why I decided to go.

.

I've got my shining mess kit made forged of stainless steel,

and my Springfield, loaded, with that cool metallic feel.

It might not be the best equipment but I've still gotta say,

it beats your crappy Lee-Enfield any fucking day!

.

I bet you're running out of cigs, so I'll bring you a pack,

and two cans of pudding if there's room in my sack.

Ugh. All that extra weight is gonna make me crack.

Jesus, Arthur, you're such a pain in the back!

.

I bet once you read that I'm coming to the front,

you'll think to yourself, "Oh that bloody cunt!"

in your stupid little accent. Did you know that it makes

you sound like a kid at the dentist with a tooth that aches?

.

Well, anyhow, I guess I'll win this stupid war for you,

I don't exactly want to come and find you cut up in two.

So I'll try to hurry up, but I don't make big promises

since the seas are so dangerous due to your navy's incompetence.

.

So worry not, my Union Jack-wearing friend,

I'll save your ass, since you're so fucking brittle.

I'm kinda kidding. I sorta guess I miss you.

But don't get any ideas! It's just a little!


End file.
